Page 50 - Army Mountaineer Winter 2022

SKIMOUNTAINEERING
in pairs, save for KY, Paul and Joe, who were entered into the long course as a three. I was with Bruce (you said it in your head didn’t you, don’t deny it) and was feeling slightly apprehensive having listened to various stories of ultra-mar- athons and other ‘build-up’ energetic exploits. Whereas my skimo training thus far consisted of buying a new coat and watching ‘The Heroes of Telemark’, it turns out that they take skimo quite seriously in these parts. The pace off the line was horrific, which set the tone for the rest of the day, skinning up pistes, then off into a big but ever narrowing couloir. Having fluffed a kick turn on a steep section, I was promptly skied over and shouted at in a variety of languages. Bruce met a similar fate but being good at languages, he was able to offer some advice in return. The skin-track uphill trudge turned into a skis-on-bag, head on the person in front’s bag, suffer until it ends affair – a journey of true self-discovery for Bruce who, all by himself, discovered his loathing of boot packs. And then for our first taste of a skimo race descent. Now, I’ve done some alpine racing and would consider myself relatively well versed in the ancient art of lickin’ on. However, none of our training so far had prepared us for the strait-down-the-fall-line, faux snowplough, who needs femurs anyway, kamikaze death wishes which was being thrown down around us. Be their style ‘just got away with it’ or ‘tomahawk for the win’, all took great offense at our ‘having the audacity’ to turn. Eventually we made it to the bottom, skins back on for the traverse around a dam and across a frozen lake. I say frozen, it’s amazing how you can find some energy when you notice the large holes and open water just off the skin track.
The view at the end of the lake was made up of two choices; sweaty euro Lycra
arse or sod off great hill, both being fairly depressing. I decided on balance that the mountains had offended me more that day, so opted for Lycra-clan posteriors. Cresting a shallow rise there was a rare moment of joy when we realised the short course broke off left, leaving the majority of the aforementioned ‘sod off great hill’ to the masochists doing the long course. That left one last big climb. We hit the col, transitioned to descent and headed off into the clag. Visibility was between rubbish and god-awful, near enough complete whiteout. In the distance, which turned out to be about 20m, I saw the finish line. Skis together, tuck for the win. Except it wasn’t the finish line. It was some inflatable arch over the course for the craic. That, or it was to mark the 90-degree turn into a steep face which I hadn’t noticed. Burying my tips into the 5ft powder bank formed by everyone else’s turning, I managed a full front flip, complete with post-holing with my head, landing back on my skis. This got a standing ovation from the crowed who agreed it was about a respectable 9.4 on average; I just needed to work on my arms. I decided it best to wait for G’day Bruce to warn him about the turn. While waiting, some well-meaning onlookers decided I’d earned a beer. I
Training around Areches
whole heartedly agreed and gratefully put away a bottle of local brew. Distracted from my main task, I only remembered about Bruce when he appeared at knee hight horizontally, having hit the same snowbank.
You can imagine Bruce’s delight when we discovered the hidden boot pack and ridge traverse, complete with icy descent. A fitting finale to the course. Crossing the start/finish line, we were pleased to find out we were the first British team back. I can’t remember where we placed but we were pleased with it, for our first race. Although as the only one-pip in the Army with a long service medal, the bar for ‘achievement’ is pretty low. All the teams came in in rapid succession. James randomly appeared on his own after his teammate called broken arrow, in what’s now known locally as ‘the great abandonment’. Last in was the team on the long course. Feeling how we were feeling after the short course, we were all in a state of admiration for team long. I decided I didn’t care why he was called KY. He was a paid-up, card-car- rying geezer in my eyes. He even drove back, via Cham for the obligatory Poco Loco. But more on this, and the Patrouille des Glaciers, in 2023.
50 / ARMY MOUNTAINEER
Roped ski training